


Stoneheart

by Whiteflower



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artist Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, past!johnten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24731047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiteflower/pseuds/Whiteflower
Summary: “Johnny, Johnny. My life was filled with Johnny, everything Johnny. That was my fault. I can’t forget him because he already owns a part of my life. Now, it’s going Yootae, Yootae, Yootae. I found out something recently though, and ironically, that is because I had Yootae with me. I don’t have to forget Johnny to forgive him. I just have to forgive myself and believe that I, too, deserve to be happy again. I need to be stronger, not for someone else, but for myself.“This time, it’s about me.”🐙💕Alternatively, Ten and Yuta does a modern retelling of Pygmalion and Galatea.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Nakamoto Yuta, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Stoneheart

**Author's Note:**

> Reader, I ask forgiveness in advance for my words may, sometimes, be too heavy. It is a burden that I also bear but I write still, so that I may improve in the future. Thank you and may you enjoy this work.

Ten had his heart petrified after his last relationship. He had lost belief in romance aside from that which he beholds in his craft. He indulged the idea of love solely through art and he presented it affectionately so. He had painted the blooming flowers of spring and the dry leaves of autumn, the pale winter snow and the bright summer sun, all throughout the seasons of his life. There was but one missing artifact in his magnum opus, the centerpiece that would stand beneath the glass dome and be shone upon directly by skylight. He decided it to be a man out of marble, whose singular imperfection is being lifeless.

Ten bestows upon the sculpture eyes as cold as breeze, nose sloping like a mountain, lips sweeter than the fruit of its trees. He carves a face that rivals the beauty of Fuji's scenery. His body is slender yet defined with sinew, poised as if imitating a ronin after a battle. Ten chisels it with precision, striking where the muscles are cut and smoothing by its curves. The five foot, nine inch tall structure was barely half-done on its third week of station. While most of the features have revealed themselves, the sculptor is still left unsatisfied with its details. Ten wanted his work to be immaculate, that it may only garner laurels and never scorn.

A period of rest has been deemed necessary before the work's completion. Given at least a month from the art exhibit, a slothful week would pose no risk. On the contrary, Ten thinks it would be beneficial for him not to lose interest on the project and have ample time for subtle societies. The first thing he does is to invite his friend, Winwin, either for a slice of cake or for a cup of coffee.

Winwin and Ten have been friends for more than three years, long enough for them to be accustomed to each other's whims and habits. Disinterested he may be, Winwin accepts the sudden invitation, knowing that it is of the few times his friend will be receiving sunlight for the next couple of weeks. Since the start of his preparation, Ten has only been out of doors twice — one was when he bought a bunch of materials and the other when he restocked his empty refrigerator. Ten wouldn't have survived this hermitage had it not been for Winwin occasionally paying him a visit to ensure that he doesn't starve or start eating yellow paint.

The nearest cafe is a block away from the studio Ten rents. He arrives earlier than his friend, taking the opportunity to find comfortable seats and order their usual choice of hot drinks. The sudden change in his surroundings easily perturbs his spirit. Perhaps, it may be because he has sheltered himself for a long time that he had already been accustomed to being alone and around no one else. He feels discomfited by the silent stares and inaudible murmurs despite his feigned avoidance of them. This makes him rethink the decision of going out with a slight regret.

Serenity comes in the form of a handsome young man. Ten waves his hands to signal help from his knight in turtleneck sweater and to direct him to his hapless corner. The other responds with a demure smile and calmly approaches the damsel in distress. His every footstep matches Ten’s heartbeat. “Worry not, I’m here to save you,” is what he would say if this is the fantasy novel Ten makes it out to be, except it’s not. Instead, his friend greets him by asking, “Did you get me my latte?”

“Yes,” Ten answers as he brings himself back to reality. Ten tries to hide what remains of his agitation. However, this does not escape his friend, who sat beside him, despite being occupied by whatever’s currently on his phone. The thumb that was pressing the screen is now pressing onto the back of Ten's palm. He is assured.

"Is everything alright?" Winwin asks him. Ten nods in reply, followed with a whisper of thanks. His friend worries for him, saying, "You know, you don't need to hide yourself. Not inside that studio, and definitely not in your thoughts."

“How did you know?” Ten’s eyes gleam with a faint light, begging to be enlightened in spite of his awareness of the answer. His confidant sees it through the dilation of those pitch-black pupils. No matter how dark Ten’s mind gets, he brings forward a lantern to illuminate it. He leaves after placing the candlelit bulb in its place, coming back to replace them when the flame is extinguished or when the wax has melted. Without him, Ten would live in somber solitude.

Winwin tightens his grasp on Ten’s hands. “I know. I know because I’m your friend,” a short pause, “and I’ll always be here to hold your hand whenever you feel like whining like a baby.”

The two share a laugh. The atmosphere lightens, the air less thick, and Ten can finally breathe. Winwin wisecracks, “Stop overthinking before you cut a cleavage in your mind."

Wordlessly, Winwin apostrophizes. May Fate be merciful to his friend, that he may find someone whom he can trust with the purity of his heart. He may act as if it's as strong as stone but it is only as fragile as crystal glass. The tougher times he had to endure so as to be polished, acquiring a luxurious luster coveted by most aristocratic lovers. This expensive treasure has been buried deep in his character after being taken once for granted. If it is to be unveiled once again, let it be done by him who is deserving of its worth and he shall not suffer the same misfortune as the one before him.

Their order comes in a short while. Ten takes a sip upon receiving his cup. He feels the warmth flow from his tongue to his throat. The aroma lingers each time he inhales. The coffee tastes a little sweeter today.

🐙💕

As his friend waves him a goodbye, Ten is left with a smile on his face and a boxed slice of cheesecake. He slides his hand deep inside his coat pocket for his keys and unlocks the door of his studio. Late sunset rays trespass the room as he enters, his shadow cast on the tiled floor. He flips the switch open and a new incandescence fills the room with light, his shadow gone. He says to himself, “I’m home.”

He leaves his bag on a chair and puts the dessert inside the refrigerator. It’s half-past six when he looks at the clock and thinks of his plans to spend the evening, either binge-watching his bookmarked Netflix shows or reading some random fiction on the internet. He decides on doing the former so he saunters to his room to collect his softest pillows and woolly blanket. After his sanctuary of bedclothes has been set and a series has been chosen from his list, he positions himself on the couch ready to watch until midnight.

While the episode he watches is far from being uneventful, lying down could only be so momentous for him. Lethargy offers him no leniency with this. His eyes get heavier by the second and it gets more difficult for him to stay awake. He tries not to succumb to this hypnosis of sleep for he has no intentions of waking early the day after. These attempts are found futile, for his persistence could not last against the formidable foe, enchanting a spell to befall upon him and cause him to deep slumber. At this moment, Ten forgets the last scenes he saw before closing his eyes. All that remains for him to remember are the few audible phrases that reach his ear. “Sleep well, Ten.”

The illusion is further realized in Ten’s dream as he finds himself again on his pillow haven. He curses his enemy for not sparing him in any way, not even to set an alarm for the morning — him getting up late is already guaranteed. He resolves to determine the nature of the dream, whether it is a nightmare or a foretelling of the future. He gets up from his place on the couch to look around his art studio. The paintings that he hung are there, as colorless as he had intended to create them for his monochrome-theme exhibit. The paint cans and brushes are scattered where he had left them. Nonetheless, they are complete. There was but one missing artifact in his magnum opus, the centerpiece that would stand beneath the glass dome and be shone upon directly by skylight. The marble statue is no more. Neither is it smashed into its pieces nor crumbled to fine dust, rather, nothing is left of its existence. Ten confirms that it is, indeed, a nightmare. He curses once more and wishes that it is only a horrible dream and not a prophecy.

In this trance, Ten is painfully unaware of reality. He sees nothing, hears nothing, feels nothing. He would not know if his paintings fall off the wall or if his materials go missing one by one. Worse, he would not know if his Eros suddenly flies to some unknown heaven. He is within his imagination, bound by the limits of its dreamscapes. Waking up is the sole solution to his problem yet he refuses to accept any of the aforementioned possibilities. He stays in his dream, believing it to be a lie, ignorant to the truth. He stands, in silence, on the emptied space where the block of stone was placed before. He wipes the lone tear that flowed from his eye. “This can’t be real.”

🐙💕

An immense flash of brightness makes Ten open his eyes. He squints as he wakes up, feeling uneasy in the state that he is. He raises his head and uses his hand to hinder the light from blinding him. The thought of his apparently lost statue penetrates his mind but it disappears when he notices something moving beside him. From his perspective, he sees a man naked, with only his blanket covering the lower half of his body. The man appears to be peacefully sleeping, chest heaving at a constant pace. “I’ve seen him somewhere before,” he says to himself. It takes a moment before Ten comprehends the situation, though not in its entirety. There is a naked stranger who was sleeping beside him inside his studio; he doesn’t know who he is or how he got there. Ten screams.

The scream was loud enough to startle the man in his sleep. Ten speedily shoves the blanket to his face and jumps out of the couch. He swipes his phone and dialed the first number he sees. As Ten is busy calling his friend, the other person in the room lets out a lazy yawn and stretches his limbs. The man stands up, resulting in the pillows and blanket falling on the floor and a stark confirmation that he wears no clothes whatsoever. Ten turns around and hides in a corner, praying to get an answer as soon as possible.

On the opposite line, Winwin is half-awake. He randomly presses the phone screen, assuming that it was his alarm ringing so he had to snooze it off. He decides not to look until it annoys him the fourth time it does not stop vibrating. The sight of an incoming call from Ten makes his eyes widen. He immediately presses the green button, thinking that Ten would only call him at such an unholy time if it is an emergency situation. He answers, “Ten? Can you hear me? Tell me what’s happening.”

“Help me, Winwin. There’s a naked man in my studio right now and I don’t know what to do.” This response sends Winwin into confusion, also having no idea on what is happening nor what to do about it. Nevertheless, he prepares himself for the worst possible scenario he could imagine.

He tells Ten, “Okay, what you need to do is calm down. I’ll be there as soon as I can so keep yourself hidden. Please don’t do anything stupid. Don’t end the call so I can still listen and talk to you while I’m on my way.”

Ten sighs in relief. He takes multiple deep breaths to calm himself down. This temporary respite does not last long when he feels a hand land on his shoulder. He slowly shifts his head and sees that it was the intruder touching him. He gets asked the question, “Are you okay?”

With another scream, the interrogator gets his answer. Ten drops his phone and moves away. He exclaims, “Don’t you dare touch me!” His hands begin to tremble and his knees are getting weaker. Drops of sweat are now visible from his temples. Faintly does he hear Winwin from the phone ask if something happened. Out of fear, he cannot answer. All he could do is close his eyes and hope that Winwin does not take too long.

Ten opens his eyes again after hearing the man speak, “I won’t touch you, but tell me if you’re not okay.” They look at each other eye-to-eye, one obviously panicked and pressured while the other calm and cool. The stranger does not appear to have ill intentions as Ten sees him raise both of his hands as if to say that he means no harm. Still, the anxiety does not go away. He is a deer in headlights, waiting for the vehicle to be crashing through if not pulling its brakes.

Feebly, Ten commands, “Tell me who you are.” This order seems to be questionable to its receiver. He tilts his head, thinking not of the answer but the reason he is being asked for it. This man, Yootae his name, recognizes Ten very well. Perhaps it is because Ten is one of the only two people he is acquainted with. He wonders how his creator could forget about him so easily.

“Do you not remember my face?” — Ten shakes his head. — “Do you not remember my name? Yootae?”

Yootae. His temple is the immortal mountain, his abode lies under a thousand cherry blossoms. He has eyes as cold as breeze, nose sloping like a mountain, lips sweeter than the fruit of its trees. Ten gave him life out of the finest marble and crowned him a name fit for an emperor. As it appears, he has been metamorphosed to a flawless being, consummated beyond perfection. Ten realizes that he knows him, every detail on his face has been etched by him, every patch of skin smoothed by his hands. He has been blessed the miracle Aphrodite once granted to the sculptor Pygmalion for his sweetest devotion. Posed before him is his Galatea, a handsome young man whose beauty rivals every mortal. Yootae is alive.

The irrational fear Ten felt is overcome by absurd happiness. His tears overflow and stream down his cheek. As if by impulse, Yootae sprints towards him, wiping the stray droplet away, and he gets his answer. Though not without a hint of disbelief, Ten remembers who he is. This doubt dissipates as he holds his hands that froze over midnight cold before, now warm with natural heat. Yootae’s cheeks blush a rosy pink far from the colorless concrete. His ivory eyes have turned sable with all its solemnity and sensibility. They share this serendipitous moment, sent by Heaven especially for them.

Winwin is stunned by this scene. Ten’s eyes would view this as a work of art, a naked man holding his creator’s hand, like a contemporary Creation of Adam out of Michelangelo’s canvas. To Winwin, there’s a possible stripper in a room and his friend is close enough to start a dangerous show. Should he shout or should he suspect it? He resolves to do both and shrieks, “Ten!?”

Two pairs of eyes meet Winwin’s. Silence suggested no help in understanding the situation. Ten is first to break it when he moves in front of Yootae, covering the clothless body with his own. He stutters in his reply because of Yootae taking hold of his shoulders. “H-hi, Winwin! I’m h-glad you’re here. Haha.”

“Minutes ago, I was rushing to come to your place because I thought you were in trouble,” Winwin complains, “and I was right. You are in trouble. I guess you figured out what to do so tell me, Ten, what is happening?”

“I can explain.” Ten scrambles for words, not knowing where to start. “I-I’ll give him clothes first!”

Ten shoves Yootae to his room with all his strength, leaving Winwin in his ignorance. Yootae simply goes with it and when the door is closed, he asks Ten, “Isn’t that Sicheng? I heard you call him Winwin.”

In a frenzy, Ten freaks out and bursts it into words, “That’s not important but yes, he is Sicheng. How do you know? Wait, don’t answer. I need to find you cozy clothes. What’s your size again? Nevermind, I’ll just let you wear one of my hoodies and sweatpants. Oh, wait, do you also need to borrow my und—”

Yootae uses his finger to shush Ten, smiling then laughing as he successfully does so. “He has the most beautiful smile too,” Ten thinks to himself, losing all his other prior thoughts. Yootae finds Ten’s surprised face just as adorable. He reassures the other by saying “Don’t worry too much, okay? I’m here with you so you don’t have to take care of everything.”

There is solace in his statement and Ten accepts as much as he sought. For a moment, he feels neither lonely nor alone, different from when he is with his best friend. Whether his heart or his mind took over, he doesn’t know but the next thing he does is entwine himself around the man standing before him. It was the warmth of bare skin touching and the comfort of a company. There is slight awkwardness which Ten paid no attention to as he whispers the words to Yootae’s ear. “Thank you for being here.”

The succeeding events occur in a state of normalcy. Ten gives Yootae his most oversized hoodie and his best sweatpants, making him look more of a boyfriend-type. Ten also styled him according to his own preference, as ethereal as he thought he could possibly be. After all is said and done, they both reveal themselves once more to Winwin who had been waiting for at least half an hour. Ten narrates the story of his mystic morning, expecting Winwin to be doubting every detail. On the contrary, Winwin acts like a character of magic realism, believing everything Ten says no matter how unrealistic. It is not because of his foolishness or apathy, no. Honestly, he wouldn’t trust any of it had it happened to him, and yet he trusts his friend, or at least the happiness that he is seeing in him. Ten confirms if Winwin thinks it’s all true and he answers back with, “Does it really matter?” Happiness, sometimes, is more important than reason.

🐙💕

Ten spends the rest of his week with Yootae.

On their first day, they decide to go shopping. Yootae wears the same hoodie-sweatpant pair Ten let him borrow. With the money he earned from his commissioned pieces, Ten purchases three sets of clothes for Yootae which style they choose together. Ten resolves to simply let him borrow his other clothes if he needed more. Besides, he thinks Yootae would look absolutely great in them, a rather possessive thought he admits.

Aside from clothes, they also do the grocery, with all the domesticity that comes with it. Yootae pushes the cart and Ten goes through his usual list of weekly sustenance, adding more than usual with one more person to feed. Yootae requests him to buy some ingredients too, for a purpose unknown to him yet, including some boiled octopi and red pickled ginger. The cashier on the counter asks them if they’re in a relationship and Ten only answers with, “I think I love him.”

Ten has never been fond of these types of activities but he finds them enjoyable this time, with someone with him to share stories he himself told a marble statue once — a statue that he believed that sees nothing, hears nothing, and does nothing. Ten walks with him now on the same street he used to walk alone, if not with Winwin. He licks the vanilla ice cream he bought with Yootae after exiting the mall. The dessert tastes a little sweeter today.

That evening, Yootae tells Ten he could sleep on the couch but the latter insists on the opposite. Ten owns a twin-size bed in his studio, good for one person but could fit two if they wanted to. Yootae occupies his space on the bed first before pulling Ten to prove that there’s enough space for the both of them. It’s not the most comfortable position but it’s a lot more comfortable than the couch. Yootae cuddles Ten, enclosing the smaller in his arms and sinking his lips on the other’s neck. It’s warm, from his slow breaths to his fast-beating heart. They sleep under the same blanket and as they close their eyes, they thank the moon and the stars for this silent night.

Ten wakes the next morning without anyone beside him. He gets up quickly, worrying that his statue has regained its original form. He is stoned the moment he sees the still-empty space at the center of his studio. A gentle voice from his kitchen calms him thereafter. Yootae greets him with an apron on, two plates of cheese omelette in his hands, “Good morning, Ten. Breakfast is ready.” Ten could get used to this.

By the afternoon, Ten receives another pleasant surprise. He catches its scent, trailing it until he reaches the kitchen where he finds a melange of chopped green onions and slices of red ginger. He would be annoyed at this mess if not for Yootae saying that he’ll clean it up himself after he’s done cooking. He curiously peeks above Yootae’s shoulders and sees the little octopus balls he is making. Ten learns later that they were called takoyakis and that Yootae prepared for three people so they could invite Winwin over. This unexpected thoughtfulness delights Ten so he attempts to return the favor by helping Yootae. While waiting for Winwin, Ten tries to make a few takoyaki and mix the sauce himself with Yootae’s hands rhythmically guiding him in every step of the process.

Winwin is welcomed by the both of them upon his awaited arrival. The living room table has been arranged and they have already picked a good show to watch while eating. The sight astonishes Winwin as he had been accustomed to be the one bringing Ten food aside from his frequent deliveries and microwaveables. He comments, “I never knew you could cook, Ten.”

“I never knew either.” Ten jokes, not hiding the fact that he was just an assistant to the real chef.

Winwin squats on the carpeted floor and picks up his chopsticks. “I won’t praise you until I taste it,” he says while looking at Yootae and taking a bite of his flavorful takoyaki. It’s definitely better than any dish that Ten could make for himself alone. He’s glad his friend has Yootae by his side.

It is visible through the smile on their faces, the way they open their mouth as they let out a giddy laugh. It is placed neatly on the tabletop, prepped on a platter with dressing on the side. It is flickering with the light overhead, illuminating the room with its presence. It is on the blank canvas, ready to be painted until it becomes an artful masterpiece. It is enclosed within these four walls and outside of it. It riddles thought and pervades emotion. If one is to ask where happiness is, happiness is everywhere and it is in abundance today. This happiness is what Winwin brings with him as he exits the studio but is also what is left for Yootae and Ten to keep. They cherish it even in their adieu and instead of a goodbye, they say, “Let’s meet again soon.”

The following day would have been mundane as any other if Ten was all by himself, except he wasn’t. There’s someone who makes breakfast before he wakes up, someone who uses the shower first, someone who occupies his favorite space on the couch. A different drop of color tints his monochromatic life, a red line connecting his ground to another man’s sky. He follows this string, pulling his fate by his fingers and rolling it on his palms until he meets the person holding the other end. The imaginary thread tangles with his hand and when he looks up, there is Yootae, asking him, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Ten answers. “Want to do something exciting? Let’s paint.”

Yootae agrees and helps Ten prepare his paint materials. Art becomes Ten’s escape, his breathing space. He stares at the empty canvas, clean and white, thinking where to start. He had painted the blooming flowers of spring and the dry leaves of autumn, the pale winter snow and the bright summer sun, all throughout the seasons of his life. Another spring blossoms from the roots of his heart, its river flows through his veins, its butterflies flutter in his insides. Ten paints this garden, cobblestone path, fountain in the center, arch of vine. This is his new florescence.

He doesn’t mind the subtle changes. They are the fruit of his deepest desires and delicate daydreams, ripened during his soft mornings and harvested upon the ending of its season. This is Eden’s forbidden apple, offered not by the serpent amongst its tree but by the bee that pollinated it, and as he bites the sweet bite, the naked truth reveals itself. Reality is not as kind to him as this blissful fantasy; it’s wicked and harsh and hard to swallow. Yootae comes to him one day and he becomes his rebellion to real life. Ten asks himself, “Is this really okay?”

The pink hues against the greens and the gradient of blue are not Ten’s. He owns black, white, and grey, but not the iridescent rainbow. However, he understands why they are on his canvas. Yootae lends it to him, for him to recall what it felt to have those lost colors. In contrast, he sees in Yootae’s canvas a rose with dark petals, not a single leaf or thorn on its straight-line stalk. That day, Ten lays hold of the last painting he will put for his exhibit.

“It’s beautiful,” he compliments Yootae. “I love it.”

“You think so?” Yootae contradicts. “I thought it was dull compared to yours.”

Ten does not say no more. He wraps his response in a hug which the taller receives with open arms. The turpentine scent of oil lingers on his chest as does the warmth in the slight space between their embrace. It reminds him, his painful yet endearing memory, of the love he chose to be forgotten. Healing has finally held him in its touch. Yootae whispers to his ear, “This is for you, my Ten.”

🐙💕

Ten awakes before the sunrise and before Yootae. He silently moves Yootae’s arm that’s currently hugging him, securing him in his peaceful slumber. The sleeper’s eyelashes flutter lightly which makes Ten question if statues ever dream of life. Ten slowly saunters out of the room, no sound heard in any of his small steps, to call his friend for an early meet-up. It’s 4AM in the morning, and Winwin surely wouldn’t appreciate being alarmed at this hour.

Winwin picks up his phone, answering it with a stupefied voice. “Ten, please please tell me this is not an emergency call. I barely had enough sleep because I was busy last night. Let me guess, Yootae?”

“No. Actually, yes. I mean, no, it’s not an emergency call but yes, it’s about Yootae.” Winwin is about to end the conversation when Ten quickly adds, “Don’t hang up yet! It’s really important, I swear, and I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it but you so...”

With half his mind awake and still wanting to go back to sleep, Winwin simply agrees with Ten. “Fine, fine. You can come here and we can talk about it, alright? I’ll go back to sleep so call me when you arrive.”

Upon the last beat of his phone, Ten walks back to the room to sit beside Yootae and spare him one final stare. He looks at him dearly, contemplating his choice while the chance to forfeit it is still available, eventually deciding on his definite departure. He caresses his cheeks and lays on them a faint kiss, wishing that he wouldn’t remember any of it. As he breaks his lips away, he whispers five words: “I love you, my Yootae.”

Ten might not know it as he stands up and closes the door but neither his kiss nor his words has helped him in his wish. Yootae has been conscious since the time Ten left his arms. He has felt every touch and heard every word, etching them to his memory until he becomes stone once again. He thanks the heavens for giving him a life, though as short as that of a butterfly, it is just as beautiful.

On his way to Winwin’s apartment, Ten drops by their usual cafe to get himself a cup of cappuccino and his friend his latte. He seems to be the only customer, even though the coffee shop is open twenty-four-seven. The barista, who became his acquaintance due to his frequent visits, welcomes him while cleaning the counter. “Good morning, Ten. You’re up early. Do you want a café au lait? It tastes perfect at this hour.”

“Good morning to you too, Hendery,” Ten smiles back. He grabs his wallet, pulls a few bills, and hands it to the other. “Thank you for the suggestion but I’ll get our usual order. Keep the change as your tip.”

“Cappuccino and latte, right?” Hendery confirms with Ten nodding as an answer. He winks and says, “I’ll add more milk just for you.” The barista brews the hot drinks with skill and mastery, fastly with his experience on the job. The air thickens with the aroma of caffeine, bittersweet blending with milk, producing a satisfying scent. As the drinks are given, Hendery wishes Ten a nice day ahead which the latter gives back with a simple “You too.”

The taxi ride to Winwin’s apartment is short without the traffic. Regardless of Winwin’s reminder, Ten does not call his phone to wake him up. Instead, he waits by the doorstep, taking the time to daydream while sipping his coffee. The sunlight is filtered through the foliage of the trees, casting a filigree-like shadow of its branches and leaves. It reminds Ten of a Renaissance painting, a representation of an elegant rebirth granted by the heavens to humans following a period of utter desolation. This dawn, the dayspring of a new chapter in Ten’s life, is a miracle that smiles on those who have not completely abandoned hope despite their disbelief on it, speaking in a soft voice, “A new day has come.”

It does not take long before the rays reach Winwin’s windows and shine on his resting eyes. He rises up forgetting the interaction that happened a few hours past. It comes to a surprise to him as he opens the door to see a specific someone waiting, someone who greets him on a good morning and offers him a cooled down latte. Ten intrudes his home after giving his gift, thanking him for his hospitality in advance.

“I told you to call so I can wake up. Since when have you been waiting?” Winwin asks in a way of figuring out how long his friend has been contemplating. He knows that his friend might be stuck in the labyrinth of his thoughts again where only he can find the way out.

Ten responds with a familiar question, “Does it really matter?” He pauses to look back at Winwin. “I thought you needed sleep so I didn’t wake you up. Besides, it was snuggly warm outside and the sky looked pretty, I couldn’t miss it.” This was an alibi but not necessarily a lie. The truth is in its genuine affection, because this is the way Ten shows his love for others, sacrificing unselfishly even if it harms himself. It happened before that he gave it all he had, to the point that it ruined him when he lost almost everything, but that is his story to tell.

“You know,” Ten starts, “thanks to Yootae, I think I finally know why I never got over Johnny.” Winwin sits beside Ten and sanctifies the silence, for him to listen and the other to testify.

“Johnny was the first man I ever loved. I always thought that it was too good to be true when the two of us met in that museum. He told me how he mistook me to be one of the artworks there because I was ‘too beautiful to be real’ and it feels more unreal considering what’s happening right now.

“At first, he intimidated me because he was so tall, but he had a kind aura around him. He approached me and then we talked a little and before I knew it, I was already comfortable around him. It happened smoothly and fastly, like we knew each other for years when in fact, we barely did. He asked for my number, I gave it to him, and that continued our series of interactions. He invited me to many places I wouldn’t have gone to myself because I was too scared to go out, convincing me by swearing that he will always be there to hold my hand and make me feel safe. He never disappointed me.

“He took photographs for all of it, ingraining our memories into films. I still keep some of the polaroids he gave me and I don’t think I could throw them away easily. Looking at them is like reminiscing how I slowly fell in love. There’s one he took on the day he confessed to me and we became boyfriends, one for each of our romantic dates, and others that he snapped ‘just because.’ You know how sentimental I am with these. I could not bring myself to hate Johnny when he was the reason for my happiness.

“I was the happiest when we were together, when he made me come over to meet his parents, when we slept together on his childhood bed, when he cooked me meals at random times of the day, and when we tried painting each other. I hated admitting it but he was the best thing that I had and it seemed like nothing else mattered. I want us to be the same way for the rest of our lives. I even said I wanted him to marry me one day! Everything was perfect until Chicago happened.

“When he said his parents wanted them to go back to Chicago, I expected him to say that he’ll stay with me and that he’d never leave my side. He didn’t. He told me that he had no other choice and it was already decided before. I felt betrayed that he didn’t inform me earlier but I felt more betrayed that he didn’t apologize to me. He promised me so many things — that he’ll wait, that he’ll come back soon, that he’ll bring me there someday, and that we’ll make more memories. All that as he broke his first promise, that he’ll always be there to hold my hand.

“Painful it was, but I couldn’t blame him entirely. I pushed him away even though it was difficult for me. I’m grateful you were there to be my shoulder to cry on. I cried so much tears, didn’t I? I guess that explains it all. He wasn’t able to complete any of his promises, and it broke my heart into pieces. Since then, I never believed in romance except in my own art.

“Yootae is the same. Yootae is like a reflection of Johnny, perhaps he is. He might as well be. He was everything that I ever wanted, what I gained and lost with Johnny. He was the best thing and the worst thing that has happened to me. That is how I realized I was making the same mistakes over again. I was, again, depending on someone instead of helping myself.

“Johnny, Johnny. My life was filled with Johnny, everything Johnny. That was my fault. I can’t forget him because he already owns a part of my life. Now, it’s going Yootae, Yootae, Yootae. I found out something recently though, and ironically, that is because I had Yootae with me. I don’t have to forget Johnny to forgive him. I just have to forgive myself and believe that I, too, deserve to be happy again. I need to be stronger, not for someone else, but for myself.

“This time, it’s about me.”

🐙💕

Ten spends the rest of the day with Winwin, who lets him stay at his apartment for the night. He wakes up with his head resting on Winwin’s shoulder. The two have fallen asleep while playing video games late midnight, controllers still in their hands. Winwin did not say anything after Ten’s testimony. Instead, they enjoyed the rest of the day together, doing stuff that made them both happy, as they always did whenever they were with each other. Though it has been unsaid, Winwin is incredibly proud of his friend. He doesn’t have to worry about him losing his light anymore. Though his flame has been extinguished and the wax has melted, he has found his own fire. He can rest easy.

Well, not so easy as he is disturbed when Ten moves from their position. He rubs his droopy eyes while Ten snuggles him into a hug. He acts annoyed even though he likes it, an exclusive kind of warmth and affection, special to their friendship. “Good morning, Winwinnie,” his friend coos, “let me stay here for another day, I don’t want to leave you anymore.”

“Stop joking,” Winwin teases. “You still have a Yootae to go home to.” Ten gives him a weak slap on the arm and throws him a pillow as they both get up. Ten completely forgot about Yootae yesterday and he wouldn’t have noticed if not for his friend’s reminder. Thinking about it, Yootae, with his almost selfless Ten-centered personality, must have been anxious of him missing or not going home. The anxiety also takes over him a little.

“Don’t worry about Yootae,” advises Winwin, “he can probably take care of himself. Let’s eat breakfast then I’ll take you home.” Ten follows so. The younger cooks rice with meat and brews coffee for the two of them. The coffee tastes a little bitter but they drink it anyway. They wash up before leaving the apartment, hailing a cab immediately to go straight to Ten’s studio. It is not a rush whatsoever yet there is a sense of urgency that compels them to move fastly, as if there is something waiting for them to be discovered, another miracle perhaps sent by Heaven.

The studio appears abandoned, no lights on when they enter, no sound aside from the door opening. There is no sign of Yootae anywhere, not on the bed where Ten sleeps nor the couch where he woke up once. Ten calls for his name, reaching ears that cannot listen to human voice, a futile attempt. Here he discovers Yootae in his petrification, his flesh hardened and his senses shut. He is, again, a man out of marble, whose singular imperfection is being lifeless. From stone he was and to stone he was thus returned.

Ten froze in his place, an iceberg in the middle of a waveless sea, standing in cold chagrin. The Titanic realization crashes through him — another loss of love and, even worse, life. A tide of emotions splashes and it ebbs by the bottom of his heart, a great whirlpool of weal and woe, a deep sinking feeling as if being swallowed by the ocean. Yet, he doesn’t break or shatter; instead, the mighty vessel does. It founders in its defeat, drowning itself in the waters. Ten triumphs this tragedy, accepting the marble trophy awarded to him. He regards Yootae as another ship that passes in the night, and his life goes on.

Eros has gone back to his mother’s arms, Ten thought, wondering if they shall meet again. Nevertheless, his Galatea poses on a pedestal before him, carved according to his memories. He caresses the bloodless sculpture, unemotional and unsympathetic, not a single speck of warmth felt. Under his breath, he says, “Thank you for everything, my Yootae. It’s been nice knowing you.”

Unlike Ten, Winwin is emotional, shedding a tear from watching the scene unfold. Ten looks at him and laughs, the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. His friend asks him, “Why are you the one crying? I’m the one who lost a boyfriend here.”

“Exactly!” Winwin exclaims. “How could you be happy about losing— wait, boyfriend? You were boyfriends and I didn’t even know? Ten, how could you?”

“I’m joking, haha. We never reached that far,” Ten explains, “and I’m not happy because I lost him. Of course I’m also sad, I miss him already. I’m happy because I have here the centerpiece that will complete my exhibit. He will stand beneath the glass dome and be shone upon directly by skylight. Then, everyone will see how beautiful my Yootae is.”

Ten hides his tears and secretly cries in his thoughts. Winwin, as if hearing his silent sobs, embraces him tightly without saying anything, speechless as they both are. This hug, however, is enough to send him the message. As if by special telepathy, he receives the words, “I am proud of you.”

🐙💕

The day has come for the museum to welcome Ten and his artworks. Ten comes early to place his paintings to their respective positions, of course, with the help of Winwin. The first rays of sunlight sift through the fractal petals of the crystal zinnia on the ceiling. The glass flower outlines its corolla on the floor, forming another flower according to its image. Yootae, the marble statue, is situated underneath the pistil. He has been there since yesterday, safeguarding the almost sacred place where Ten’s exhibit will be held.

Ten has five paintings, each of which has a dedication and is named after a Grecian reference. The descriptions are written in a square paper below the title of the painting. They are the stories of what Ten holds dear in his humbled heart and what he is willing to present to the world before him.

On the leftmost part lies Leander. Dark clouds over the stormy seas of Abydos, on a nightfall with no moon or stars, swims a lad whose only source of illumination is a measly lamp. It is a damper of doom and gloom, as hopeless as it could be, yet it still glows with a little gleam of hope. This is the tale Ten offers to his torchbearer, his Hero, the one who made sure his lamp does not lose its light. Winwin has seen its black beauty before but not after Ten whiskered it with white. He smiles upon the sight of it, perhaps quite ironically. This, he tells his friend, “I’ll always be here to be your Hero.”

Next to Leander is the son of the God his lover preached. It is a composition of symmetry and asymmetry, a halo pierced with a slanted arrow, coal-colored wings on both sides and feathers falling down. These wings are overlaid with candle wax that drip down the frame to the floor. This is the depiction of Eros in giving his love but failing to receive it in return. This is for Johnny, the man Ten he has never forgotten though already forgiven. He, the Psyche, wonders whose will it was that their romance ends as such and answers himself with the question “Does it really matter?”

The middle painting and the one on its right are the artworks he made together with Yootae. At the center is the only piece with a hue that’s neither black or white: the polýchromo kípo. It is the garden he had imagined, cobblestone path, fountain in the center, arch of vine. Contrasted is the mávro triantáfyllo, the lone rose with dark petals, not a single leaf or thorn on its straight-line stalk. He names the former Flora, the flower that bloomed after the west wind Zephyrus, and the latter Chloris, its original counterpart who breathed spring with her lips.

The last is for himself, the portrait of Pandora, the bearer of the curiosity’s curse. He discovers himself in her, the fathomless thoughts that disturb his mind and the deep emotions that stir in his heart. Love is his forbidden chest and upon opening it the first time, he released a thousand forms of fear. The devastation does not disappear immediately and its ghosts haunt him every so often. This is the image that stains his canvas with gradients of greys. It is more abstract compared to the four other paintings and it represents him well. For all it is worth, it is his promise to himself, that he will not be beaten by defeat and that he will always win against his misery. Thus, he waits for the right time to open this box again.

This exhibit, or conceivably this story-telling, finishes with a happy ending. He has collected customers wanting to commission him and give him lots of coins for his artworks. The curator has even asked him if they could keep the portrait of Pandora as a permanent piece of the museum. He had the pleasure of receiving applause from his audience and appreciation deservedly so. Ten decides to gift Winwin the painting he made for him which the younger accepts with an “I know you love me and I love you too.” As for the statue, it was immaculate, that it only garnered laurels and never scorn.

As Ten leaves the room, he notices a man observing Yootae and his details. The sculptor asks him politely, “Excuse me, Sir. The exhibit is already closed. We thank you, however—”

Ten gets interrupted by the man saying, “I look exactly like this statue, don’t I?” He turns around for Ten to recognize his face that rivals Fuji’s scenery. He has eyes as cold as breeze, nose sloping like a mountain, lips sweeter than the fruit of its trees. It is a striking similarity. The man continues, “Coincidence? Maybe.”

“Yootae?” confirms Ten confusedly, pondering if this is another form of miracle. The other simply laughs at him and smiles the most beautiful smile he has ever seen, exactly like Yootae’s.

“Close enough. I’m Yuta,” he introduces while extending his hand, “Nakamoto Yuta. Yootae’s a cute nickname though, I might let you use it for me. You’re the one who made this marble statue?” Ten responds with a nod and instantly, Yuta asks again, “Is it okay if I buy it? Tell me the price and I’ll give it to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Ten answers, “I can’t sell it. Yootae, I mean, this statue, has a sentimental value to me. If you want, I could make you a replica.”

Yuta refuses this offer and thinks for a counterproposal, “Is there a way for me to see it everyday?”

“Pretty narcissistic, are we?” says Ten sarcastically. “Well, I’ll be keeping him in my studio so if you really want to then I guess you have to drop by everyday. Also, I don’t let strangers in easily.”

🐙💕

Ten did not expect Yuta to follow his suggestion. Every day since his exhibit, he has been getting free breakfast and coffee from a handsome young man that looks like his statue. Yuta has come to his studio too often to be called a stranger. At first, he didn’t let him inside, dubious of his intentions. He pities him later on after talking to him. Ten interrogates, “Are you really here just to see my statue?”

“Yeah... I was,” Yuta nonchalantly replies, “I found a new reason to visit here. They’re not that different actually.”

“And that is?” Ten inquires further.

“To see something beautiful.”

Ten rolls his eyes at this and pays no attention to it. Nonetheless, he allows Yuta to do as he wants so long as he does not lose the benefits that he enjoys with it.

As he would say it, Yuta gets more and more annoying everyday, wishing for more than what he had the day before. From reading a Japanese novel on Ten’s couch while he paints, he has started bothering Ten about his life and unnecessarily including himself in it. For some reason not even Ten knows, he does not kick him out despite all this. In reality, he grows more and more fond of Yuta’s company as he did with Yootae. He becomes more affectionate to him as he considers casually interacting with him. Sometimes, they stay inside the studio the whole day minding their own business. The other times, they go out to drink coffee at the cafe or invite Winwin over to have fun.

Ten contemplates about it until he reaches a conclusion. Yuta is not Yootae and Yootae is not Yuta. They’re two different people no matter how alike. Yootae may have been the type of person Ten has always wanted, Yuta is the type that he has always needed. He needs not someone whom he can depend on for he is independent enough; he needs someone to stay by his side and hold his hand. Ten had his heart prepared his heart for yet another relationship. He started to believe in romance once again.

It is that day that Eros comes back to Psyche’s arms, laying him in a warm embrace. It is that day that Pandora reopens her forbidden chest and discovers a newfound hope. It is that day that the Heavens bestow upon mortals miracles from above. It is that day that Yuta enters Ten’s studio and Ten greets him, “Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, reader. Thank you for reading this fic. It's the second one I've written so I hope you enjoyed it. I tried to make this one more poetic and I hope it turned well. Please feel free to leave comments and kudos if you want to, I will appreciate it.
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